time.
I head out wearing just a white tank top underneath my leather jacket—a big thing in Berlin—despite the early autumn chill. Golden-brown leaves tumble to the ground around me and I feel that surge of contentment rushing through me again. This is my city now and, if circumstances allow, I’m never leaving. I haven’t been to many places in my life, but something tells me that, now that I live in Berlin, I don’t have to anymore. There’s always this buzz of possibility in the air. This electric enthusiasm infecting people and spurring them on to have one more drink and one more dance. Raves are not just for the young in this town and tonight we’ll show them how it’s done.
I recognise Max’ green hoodie sticking out from under his jacket as I approach the tram stop. He’ll take them both off the minute he walks inside the club, ready to show off his five-days-a-week-in-the-gym body. I spot Andreas’ peroxide mane of hair and then, there she is, Ellen Kauer, my sort of date for the night.
“Guten Abend,” I try and they look at me as if I’m speaking Chinese. So much for cultural integration.
“Hey, Ada.” Ellen throws her arms around me and I must admit it feels pretty good. “Long time, no see,” she whispers in my ear, her breath warming my skin.
Maybe we should skip the whole going out charade and head back to my place. It would make my liver happy, for starters, and I could spend my Saturday as a human being instead of a red-eyed zombie. I need some alcohol for this to work though and for whatever else Berghain has to offer. And I didn’t move to Berlin to go home early on Friday evenings.
The tram arrives and we hop on. Max is a hyped-up bundle of excitement. It could be the promise of all his favourite things—boys, booze and blow jobs—crammed together in one club or he could already be on something.
“How are your German classes going?” Ellen asks and I wish she hadn’t.
Her question transports me right back to the unrequited lust balling up inside of me every Friday afternoon, as if I’m some half-grown teenager who can’t deal with her hormones yet. Maybe it’s more than lust, I ponder. I spend more time with Giselle every week than I do with most of my friends. We sit across from each other, our hands almost touching and our breath audible.
“Wunderbar,” I say and fix my eyes and attention on Ellen. She’ll have to deliver tonight. I need some sort of release and she looks more than willing.
“What’s the name of your teacher again?” I do wish she’d stop going on about that.
“Giselle Cromm,” I say and the mention of her name, the ease with which it rolls from my lips, as if I’m meant to say it for the rest of my life, ignites the fire in my belly again. Ellen could well just have ruined her chances.
“A lanky, bohemian blonde, right?”
“Yes.” My heart thuds violently. With icy blue eyes, I want to add, and three freckles on the side of her nose.
“I believe I may have met her a few weeks ago at a freelance teachers’ conference.”
Of course, Ellen is a teacher as well, which, I’m beginning to think, might be the only reason I kissed her that time.
“Really?” Regardless of the fact that I don’t want to have this conversation with Ellen, I am extremely intrigued.
“A group of us hit some bars afterwards and I remember she quite fancied herself some shots of tequila.” Ellen smiles broadly at the memory.
I don’t know whether to like her less or more now that she’s divulged this bit of information. She had drinks with Giselle. It does make her more attractive-by-proxy. It also stirs an irrational bout of jealousy inside of me.
“She’s a party girl, that one,” Ellen continues and I’m confused.
Giselle has always struck me as anything but a raging night owl searching for cheap thrills after dark. She always seems so proper with her black-rimmed glasses and her endless array of purple-tinted scarves,
I head out wearing just a white tank top underneath my leather jacket—a big thing in Berlin—despite the early autumn chill. Golden-brown leaves tumble to the ground around me and I feel that surge of contentment rushing through me again. This is my city now and, if circumstances allow, I’m never leaving. I haven’t been to many places in my life, but something tells me that, now that I live in Berlin, I don’t have to anymore. There’s always this buzz of possibility in the air. This electric enthusiasm infecting people and spurring them on to have one more drink and one more dance. Raves are not just for the young in this town and tonight we’ll show them how it’s done.
I recognise Max’ green hoodie sticking out from under his jacket as I approach the tram stop. He’ll take them both off the minute he walks inside the club, ready to show off his five-days-a-week-in-the-gym body. I spot Andreas’ peroxide mane of hair and then, there she is, Ellen Kauer, my sort of date for the night.
“Guten Abend,” I try and they look at me as if I’m speaking Chinese. So much for cultural integration.
“Hey, Ada.” Ellen throws her arms around me and I must admit it feels pretty good. “Long time, no see,” she whispers in my ear, her breath warming my skin.
Maybe we should skip the whole going out charade and head back to my place. It would make my liver happy, for starters, and I could spend my Saturday as a human being instead of a red-eyed zombie. I need some alcohol for this to work though and for whatever else Berghain has to offer. And I didn’t move to Berlin to go home early on Friday evenings.
The tram arrives and we hop on. Max is a hyped-up bundle of excitement. It could be the promise of all his favourite things—boys, booze and blow jobs—crammed together in one club or he could already be on something.
“How are your German classes going?” Ellen asks and I wish she hadn’t.
Her question transports me right back to the unrequited lust balling up inside of me every Friday afternoon, as if I’m some half-grown teenager who can’t deal with her hormones yet. Maybe it’s more than lust, I ponder. I spend more time with Giselle every week than I do with most of my friends. We sit across from each other, our hands almost touching and our breath audible.
“Wunderbar,” I say and fix my eyes and attention on Ellen. She’ll have to deliver tonight. I need some sort of release and she looks more than willing.
“What’s the name of your teacher again?” I do wish she’d stop going on about that.
“Giselle Cromm,” I say and the mention of her name, the ease with which it rolls from my lips, as if I’m meant to say it for the rest of my life, ignites the fire in my belly again. Ellen could well just have ruined her chances.
“A lanky, bohemian blonde, right?”
“Yes.” My heart thuds violently. With icy blue eyes, I want to add, and three freckles on the side of her nose.
“I believe I may have met her a few weeks ago at a freelance teachers’ conference.”
Of course, Ellen is a teacher as well, which, I’m beginning to think, might be the only reason I kissed her that time.
“Really?” Regardless of the fact that I don’t want to have this conversation with Ellen, I am extremely intrigued.
“A group of us hit some bars afterwards and I remember she quite fancied herself some shots of tequila.” Ellen smiles broadly at the memory.
I don’t know whether to like her less or more now that she’s divulged this bit of information. She had drinks with Giselle. It does make her more attractive-by-proxy. It also stirs an irrational bout of jealousy inside of me.
“She’s a party girl, that one,” Ellen continues and I’m confused.
Giselle has always struck me as anything but a raging night owl searching for cheap thrills after dark. She always seems so proper with her black-rimmed glasses and her endless array of purple-tinted scarves,
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